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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26184409">the loss of a thing that never once existed</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/d_fenestrate/pseuds/d_fenestrate'>d_fenestrate</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Angst with no happy ending, Break Up, Character Study, Emotional Hurt, Komori Motoya makes an appearance, M/M, The night is cold, hella introspective, of sorts</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 05:15:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,637</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26184409</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/d_fenestrate/pseuds/d_fenestrate</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The difference between love and infatuation can be difficult to navigate and easy to misunderstand. It takes two years for Sakusa Kiyoomi to understand the distinction between the two. </p><p>alt; the prelude of a break-up that’s been a long time coming</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>57</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>the loss of a thing that never once existed</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>hello tis me again!</p><p>there was a lot of talk about a sakuatsu break up on my tl a few nights ago and, given how much fluff i've been writing lately, i wanted to try my hand at something angsty. so... this is what came out it. </p><p>i totally did not self project onto this... nooooo</p><p>thank you very very much to the lovely <a href="https://twitter.com/ohmiyamy">nead</a> (spiritscript on ao3) for beta-ing this! </p><p>enjoy?</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Spike. Position. Forward. Receive. </p><p> </p><p>Spike. Position. Back. Set. </p><p> </p><p>These are the motions Kiyoomi repeats at the junction between a brick wall and a contorted set of wired fences in a rather empty park. He spikes the ball to the wall, positions himself for a set or receive, and resets again accordingly. There is a band of trees blocking him off from the main area of the public space, the minor point of privacy aiding in the zeroing of his attention and loss of worldly awareness. </p><p> </p><p>The night is cold and dry, and as Kiyoomi moves sparsely within a small radius of his initial position, he barely feels the suspended chill; his heart beating fast and loud, but not in an exhilarating way. The emptiness of the atmosphere mimics an emptiness of his own, one that’s riddled him for weeks now and one that he’s desperately trying to identify through known, monotonously automatic volleyball exercises. </p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Toss. </p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t recall when the feeling of loss began. He doesn’t recall when he realized its presence either. The lack of both details gives him little to nothing to hold onto for his introspection. </p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Spike. </p><p> </p><p>At first, the loss didn’t necessarily affect his life. He’s no stranger to bouts of low motivation and low emotion. He had attributed it to just that, moving along through the motions as if everything was okay. That this was just a phase. </p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Receive. </p><p> </p><p>Everything, it seemed, was not okay. The loss of emotion started to bleed into a facet of his life he had never expected it to. He had no control over it, simply waking up one morning and feeling nothing despite the furnace curled up by his side. </p><p> </p><p>It was strange. </p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Spike.</p><p> </p><p>Atsumu had smiled at him that morning. Just like he always did. Kiyoomi waited for the warmth to prickle from the location of contact between the two of them and spread throughout his body, warranting a fond smile of his own. </p><p> </p><p>It didn’t happen. </p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Set. </p><p> </p><p>And it continued to not happen in the days and weeks following. Kiyoomi had to learn to fake the feelings for the sake of not allowing the other any awareness of his condition, of the emptiness chewing away at him on the inside, of the feeling of being misplaced, suffocating him each and every time they were together. </p><p> </p><p>He didn’t say anything. How could he when he didn’t understand the emotions themselves? </p><p> </p><p>Just what was wrong? Just what is missing? Just when did this something disappear? </p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Spike. </p><p> </p><p>Just when did the love disappear? </p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Freeze. </p><p> </p><p>The ball bounces against his arm and launches straight up. Kiyoomi remains frozen in his stance. </p><p> </p><p>No, he thinks. That can’t be it. </p><p> </p><p>Kiyoomi’s thighs burn as he remains paralyzed in the squat. There is a sense of dread as he tears at his heart to look for the warmth that he called love. He is certain that it should be present, but when his search turns up dry, Kiyoomi allows his legs some rest and stands shakily. His next realm of investigation is his memories, and Kiyoomi can feel his throat tighten more and more as he searches farther and farther back. </p><p> </p><p>Nothing. <em> Nothing </em>. It is as if the feelings never existed. Which, to Kiyoomi’s understanding, is simply not accurate. He had felt something with Atsumu. He should still be feeling things with Atsumu. </p><p> </p><p>The volleyball in his hand suddenly feels heavy. Kiyoomi twirls it around, passing it back and forth from hand to hand. It is grounding, and strangely enough, the grounding is the most he has felt with a clear head in a long time. </p><p> </p><p>Kiyoomi frowns. If what he had been feeling with Atsumu wasn’t real, what was it then? </p><p> </p><p>His memory swerves to a different scene. One farther back than when he had met Atsumu again at MSBY. </p><p> </p><p>“The lines between infatuation and love are really vague,” Komori had told him one winter night. They were stretching, Kiyoomi more or less resting with his highly flexible limbs. “I don’t think I could ever find my way to love.” </p><p> </p><p>Kiyoomi had grunted in response, not lifting his head. Komori had simply continued. </p><p> </p><p>“But when you’re infatuated—really, really infatuated--- it feels like love. Until it doesn’t.” </p><p> </p><p>Another grunt is all Kiyoomi had been able to manage as he vaguely soaked in Komori’s philosophy of love. At that point, he had not paid it much attention, fully under the impression that he would not ever need to worry about navigating the strange grounds between entities such as love and not-love. </p><p> </p><p>But now, Komori’s words ring in his head painfully. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> It feels like love.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p><em> Like </em> love. But not <em> love </em>. </p><p> </p><p>What Komori had been trying to say was that infatuation was <em> not </em> love. </p><p> </p><p>Kiyoomi grips the volleyball tightly. His heart rate has increased again and there is a cold sweat at his forehead, his neck, his chest, that suddenly makes him hyper aware of the sharp nightly chill. </p><p> </p><p>He shivers at his next set of questions. </p><p> </p><p>Did Kiyoomi really even love Atsumu? Or, was he just infatuated with the idea of loving him? </p><p> </p><p>Kiyoomi eyes the brick wall in front of him angrily. There has to be more to it. There has to be a reason for his distinct memory of love despite having no sensational storage of it. </p><p> </p><p>Was it simply a matter of feeling new and free in what he became for Atsumu, only to now revert back to his old, default self, one that had no room for any feelings of devotion and affection for another? </p><p> </p><p><em> Fuck </em>. </p><p> </p><p>Kiyoomi manages to stand straight, eyes slightly wide as his loud, accelerated heart rate is joined by a wave of light-headedness and short breath. Desperate, he searches his memory again for any semblance of the emotions he’s just lost. The presence is there, the association of love with Atsumu is there. But he’s unable to reach it, grasp it, comprehend it anymore. </p><p> </p><p>It is not genuine. Nor is it current. He can acknowledge the feelings-- doubt them even. </p><p> </p><p>But the burn is gone. And so is the brightness. </p><p> </p><p>He throws the volleyball at the wall in front of him in frustration and something else. </p><p> </p><p>Kiyoomi fears it is permanent. </p><p> </p><p>This time the world around him seems to shiver in response. The wind whistles, the trees jostle, and the clouds shift in front of the moon slightly, decreasing the already limited light of the night. </p><p> </p><p>Surprisingly enough, it is not this realization that completely crushes Kiyoomi. It is the realization that he is going to have to be true to himself and Atsumu in order to prevent the other from anymore harm that absolutely obliterates Kiyoomi, shattering that shell that had been housing the growing void. </p><p> </p><p>It is not fair, he thinks, picking up the old, worn volleyball in front of him. Any of it, that is. </p><p> </p><p>When he reaches the halfway point between the park and his apartment, Kiyoomi allows himself to acknowledge the implications of his newfound comprehension. </p><p> </p><p>He is going to have to end it. The relationship. Because it is also not fair if he doesn’t. It is not fair to Atsumu for Kiyoomi to fake something the other feels for so deeply. </p><p> </p><p>Kiyoomi opens his apartment door and stands in the unlit entrance. An empty truth hangs in front of him. </p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Because of him, they are no more. </p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>And based on the infatuation vs. love discourse, it seems that they never were anything to begin with. </p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The next night falls, bringing back its quiet chill. And Kiyoomi is on the move once more. </p><p> </p><p>It is not fair, he thinks again, standing in front of an excruciatingly familiar apartment door. The minor cracks and chips in the paint he had come to memorize over their time together welcome him just as they always had, each just as unsuspecting as the person behind the door of what was about to transpire. </p><p> </p><p>It is not fair that Kiyoomi spent two years giving his all to another, only to learn that none of it was real in the end. </p><p> </p><p>The dark-haired man waits patiently, neither thrilled nor devastated by what he is going to have to do. Kiyoomi had already made peace with his next set of actions.</p><p> </p><p>Yet, as he hears the same footstep pattern he has heard from his position countless times in the past two years, Kiyoomi can’t help but allow his thoughts to wander and linger over the absurdity of the situation. </p><p> </p><p>It is comical, his mind concludes. It is outright facetious how much Kiyoomi believed in the truth of this lie during the past two years. </p><p> </p><p>What a fool he had been. And now he is about to pay the price. </p><p> </p><p>The door opens. Bright, excited eyes meet his, their accompanying smile that previously instantly blinded him simply appearing as a normal grin in Kiyoomi’s sight. </p><p> </p><p>It is just not fair. </p><p> </p><p>“Omi! What are you doing here? I thought you wer—”</p><p> </p><p>“Atsumu,” his voice is stiff, the tone calculated. Practiced. “Can I come in?”</p><p> </p><p>Atsumu is quick to catch onto the difference, his smile disappearing suddenly. Unlike before, Kiyoomi doesn’t long for it to return. </p><p> </p><p>“Omi?” <em> What’s wrong? </em>is what he doesn’t say. </p><p> </p><p>Kiyoomi does not answer directly. Atsumu deserves a well-thought-out, well-said explanation and answer. </p><p> </p><p>“We need to talk.” </p><p> </p><p>And Kiyoomi did not think he could break any more. Nor did he think that he could feel something because of the other in front of him again. </p><p> </p><p>He does. He breaks more. His stomach falls, throat constricts as he almost chokes, and a dreadful cold shrouds his head and heart all at once, freezing him in place. </p><p> </p><p>It is the instant recognition of what Kiyoomi is meaning to say and the corresponding appearance of knowing shadows on Atsumu’s face that kills him on the spot. </p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Him too?</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>um so yeah, i hoped you liked that aha. </p><p>just if you're wondering, the dummy title for this in my drive was "my self projection of "love is fake" "</p><p>check me out on <a href="https://twitter.com/de_sociate">twitter</a> or <a href="http://de-sociate.tumblr.com">tumblr</a>! it's honestly a great time. </p></blockquote></div></div>
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